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Roaldus Richmond
35 School Street
Montpelier, Vt.
SHORTY THE HAPPIEST MAN IN TOWN
"I supported my wife for fifteen years," said Shorty.
"Why in hell shouldn't she support me for awhile now? It's
only fair, ain't it? Sure it is."
fte was about five -feet -four, an absurd swaggering little
Frenchman with bright pop eyes behind spectacles and an
eternal toothy grin on his dark wrinkled monkey -face. His
barking laugh and his ceaseless chatter, his high-spirited
ribaldry and colorful profanity, made the jaunty devil-may-
care Shorty a town character. Nothing ever daunted or dep-
ressed him. He had little in the world and he asked for
little. No property, no automobile, no money in the bank,
no clothes, and no prospects for the future. Yet they said
Shorty was the happiest man in town.
He dressed always in blue jeans, a faded blue work
shirt open at the neck, or a (flirty cotton undershirt in
warm weather. His arms, shoulders and body was surprisingly
muscular and tanned to a saddle -brown. His little frame was
sturdy and healthy. A railroad cap was tilted crazily on
his head, a cigarette rested behind one ear. ,fter a few
ales Shorty talked endlessly and inanely, a ridiculouv flow
of nonsense, sometimes humorous, sometimes boring.
When Shorty got going good the barroom, his daytime
habitat, would reecho with good-natured protestations
"Tune that thing down." "Shut that noise off." "Turn
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over the record." "Try a new neddle." "Don't you ever
run down, Shorty?" "He's had enough, throw him out."
MEANS
"Get another station." "Gag the little bastard." "Call
the cops." "Hell, call his keeprr."
And Shorty would say dolefully: "Why they always pickint
on me? For chrisake. I never did nothint to them. I'm all
right, ain't I? I'm a good feller. I work when I can. What
you goin' do when you can't get no job? My wife's got a
good job, so I do the cookint and housekeepint. That's fair
enough, ain't it? What more you expect of a guy? I always
take odd jobs if I can get tem. I'm a good worker. You ask
anybody I ever worked for, they'll tell you.
n-
,L'm a Frenchman, boy, and the French are tough. The
best soldiers in the world!" Shorty struck a pose, as with
a bayoneted rifle. "They shall not pass! Vive la Francel
You think they ain't tough? Look at me no winter under-
wear since the middle of April. How you like that? You
watch them Frenchmen go into Germany. Yah, is that so?
They will like hell chase the French back into the English
channel! They never saw the day. You goddam Wops can't talk
about fightint with a Frenchman. What'd Italy ever do, who'd
they ever lick? Nobody but Ethiopia, for chrisake. The Eye-
talians was the worst soldiers in the last war. They dohlt
ever dare get into this one.
"I'm in good shape, boy. Dontt forget it. Look at that
muscle. Feel of that arm if you don't think so. I ain't
soft. I always worked hard. Maybe I ain't big, but neither
was ilapoieon. Don't worry, I done every kind of work.
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worked in lumbel-yards. I shoveled coal, I worked on the
steel gang railroadint. I done bridge and road construct-
ion. All heavy work, hard work. I can make a shovel sing a
song, boy. Aw4 shut up, you shanty Irishman. Wheel -barrows
was invented to teach the Irish to walk on their hind legs!
I was a lumper in the stonesheds, but I don't know nothint
about granite or stone-cuttint. I don't want to either. I
been a grunt on power -line jobs, and I done some climbint
too." (All you ever clumb was a woman, you weasel!" from
the next booth). Shorty barked with laughter. "Yeah, I done
some of that too," he confessed.
"I was born right here and I always lived here. It's
good enough for me. You can have your cities, you can have
your farms. Gime a town this size. I got a nice wife, a
good-lookin, wife, boy and three nice kids. Yeah, maybe
one of 'em is biggertn me but I can still take care of him.
You oughta see my wife
Interruptions from nearby booths: "Tell 'em about the
time you got her in the rocking-chari, Shorty." "Tell
'em about the time you cut the hole in her pajamas."
"Tell 'em how you came home and caught her bending over
mopping the floor."
Shorty laughed and swore explosively. "You guys go to
hell," he slid. "Anyway, what business they got moppint
floors with them short shirts on? I'm a man, I am. They
can't get away with that stuff when I'm around!"
"Kow about the time you caught your wife with that
Fuller Brush salesman, Shorty?"
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"That," said Shorty indignantly, "is a goddam lie.
personally can take care of my wife alone. Don't worry
none about that. That guy was just showint her how a brush
worked, that's all my wife don't have to shop round outside
any. I'm a good man, boy. I keep her sabisfied."
"Shorty,tell about the time the priest came in here
and dragged you out by the collar."
"Aw, he didn't do nothint of the kind." Shorty said.
"He just wanted to talk to me, that's all. That priest's
a good friend of mine. I ain't missed a Sunday in twenty
years. I'm headint for heaven."
"I &pose you were in church that Sunday morninl the
game -warden caught you with short trout, fishing out of
season without ,a license, and using a stolen pole besides."
Shorty threw up his grimy hands in despair. "What can
a guy do? What chance has a guy got with them wolves? I
give up.
"But they don't mean nothinl," Shorty went on confiden-
tially. "They're good guys, great guys. Why, they'd gimme
the shirt right of fin their back --if they had a shirt. If I
get in a jam they help me out, every time. /f I get pinched
they pay my fine. Sure, that's the kinds guys they are. They
know Shorty's all right too, and don't forget it. That's why
I like this town. Some real guys in it, some regllar guys.
Best guys in the world. Course there's some p ---pots here too.
They think they're big shots. But we don't pay no attention to
tem. Don't associate with 'em at all.
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"I'm forty years old, boy, right in the prime of life.
Life begins at forty. Why, I ain't even started yet. I was
born here, but my old man came down from Sherbrooke, Quebec.
He made plenty dough lumberin' once, but he lost it all.
Us kids spent it for him there was eleven of us. I told
my wife I was stopping with three. I seen what eleven kids
done to my old man."
More interruptions: "Shorty, remember when you went
home carrying a new broom over your shoulder with six rolls
of toilet paper on the handle of it? Ws you playing soldier
then?" "How about those chickens you stole off your,
neighbor up there?" ("Them chickens was scratchint up
my garden," Shorty shouted. "I only done it in self-defense.")
"I never seen such a bunch of liars," Shorty said sad-
ly, wagging his head. "They've lied so long they can't tell
the truth no more. I got plenty on them fellers too but
I don't talk."
"Not muchl" somebody jeered. "That's all you do do."
"You go fry your can," said Shorty. Then, with some
pride: "I guess I am a crazy bastard. But you got to have
some fun, ain't you? I have pulled some pretty good ones,
I guess. I've had my fun. I could tell you some good ones
but you probily heard 'em before. If you ain't you will.
With this gang here I don't need no press agent.
"What'd I do if I could do just what I wanted to? I'd
probily sit right here and drink ale, all day long, every
day in the year." ("That's all you do anyway, for chrisake.")
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Yes sir, I believe in takint it easy, gettint some enjoyment
outa life. I ain't goint to worry myself into no grave. I
ain't goint to work myself to death neither. Life's too
short. All right, maybe I don't like work. Who the hell
does?
"But I've worked plenty in my time. I can shovel with
anybody dirt, snow coal, anythint. I can use a hammer
and saw with anybody. I can handle lumber and I know lumber.
But nowadays a man can't earn a decent day's pay, can he?
So why work?
"I get all the ale I want. I run errands for it if I
have to. If thw need some meat for sandwiches here I go
get it and they give me an ale. If somebody shootinl pool
next door wants a pint I go after it, and they buy me an
ale. If they need some change here it's Shorty that gets
it for tem. Shorty's Special Delivery Service Anywhere
in Town for an Ales That's me."
"Hey, Shorty," interposed a listener. "How about that
time you and Graf Griffo were up shingling Old Lady Marlowe's
roof? They was up there on the roof and it was getting
pretty hot in the sun, I guess. Shorty climbed down and the
Old Lady asked him where he was going. I guess she could
tell from the thirsty look in Shorty*s eye. Shorty says:
'I got to go down -town to see a feller. It's about another
job me and Graf got. 'The Old Lady says: 'Well, when are
you going to finish this job here?' Shorty scratched his
head a minute and says: "Well, it all depends. If we get
this other job we'll finish up here tomorrow. If we don't
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it'll take us three-four days more.'"
"Sure," Shorty said. "I'm honest, ain't I? Honesty is
the best policy. I ain't lyin' to a poor old lady like that.
Moat do you think I am?
I ain't big but I'm tough. Honest and tough. One day
I was diggin' down in a ditch. There was big sonofabitch
up on top kept sprinklinl dirt down my neck. He was seven
feet tall, problly eight. I got sick of that guy. he kept
makin' cracks: 'I know now why they call Frenchmen frogs.
Looka that little tadpole down in the mud there.' Then he'd
spit and say: !Lookout you don't get drowned in that spit,
Froggy.' I climbed out with my shovel and told him I was
goin' to cut him down to my size and kick Jesus Christ and
the Twelve Disciples outa him. He took a swing with his
shovel and I ducked. The wind of it knocked down three guys
that was twenty feet off. I jumped high as I could and bent
that old shovel over his skull. It put his head right down
between his shoulderblades. I hit him so hard he was hump-
backed for three years after. It cracked his skull like a
rotten ege. He went out like a candle. No, it didn't kill
him. He was too mean to die anyway... But I can take care
of myself and don't forget it. You can't keep a good little
man down.
"If you want to see fightint you shoulda seen this place
when the CCC's was here, buildint the East Barre dam and the
Wrightsville dam. They sold beer by the pitcher in them days.
They had a dozen fights every night. A big nigger used to
sing in here; Cokey Joe played the piano; a crazy Indian
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played the drums. That big nigger married a white girl in
town. Honest to Christ, and was she proud of that black
bastard!
"When the CCC's was here they had about a dozen girls
upstairs. They did a damn good business too, boy. They was
kept plenty busy, I'm tellint rah. Now they's only a few
strays left around, and they're no good. One of 'em told
me the other day, she says: 'Shorty, I can't make a livin'
in this town no morel' I guess she's right. Too much free
stuff floatinl round. Too much competition from these office
girls.
"This is a good town though. I like it. I have a good
time here, boy. I have more goddam fun... I don't need
money and cars and nice clothes, I make my own fun. If a
guy wants to spend his life sweatin' and slavin, and workinl
that's his business. If a man wants to inhale that granite
dust every day let him go ahead. It ain't my idea of a good
time, grindinl away at that goddam stone day after day until
your lugs fill up and your face turns gray like the granite.
Not for Shorty. I got respect for them stonecutters too,
don't think I ain't. They #ade this town all right. They
put this state on the map. You got to hand it to them.
"Well, boys," said Shorty, sighing and stretching. "Buy
MB another ale and I'll be going. Got to get home and cook
dinner for the wife and kids." He downed his ale with a
flourish, cocked his cap over one bright eye and rose to
leave. Laughter rose with him and Shorty glared about fer-
ociously. Then he grinned through the scowl and laughed
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his peculiar barking laugh, head tossed back.
"All right, laugh, you goddam hyenas," said Shorty,
"'You can laugh. But I'm still a good cook, and don't forget
it." And he swaggered toward, laughing and singing, a
diminutive and dingy cavalier, the happiest man in town.